The Evasive Mistletoe

Sitting under the tree of oaks Pale - green, mistic mistletoe, One last candle burning low, All the wondering children gone, Just one soul venturing on, Shadows lurking who could it be Yet too late, has taken ahold of me. Tired I was; my head I began to awoke, Nodding under the old oak Pale - green, mysterious mistletoe, No footsteps came, no voice, but only, Just as I sat there, scared, lonely Left in the still and shadowy air, Soul taken, and wilting body left me there. Be aware, for No one will ever know It infest you oh ever so, lurking in the shadows The invasive Mistletoe.